My Everything
by Dreamin
Summary: Severus Snape's thoughts on a certain 7th year Gryffindor girl. Originally posted as My Day's Wage. Not HBP compliant!
1. My Day's Wage

Disclaimer: The world is J.K. Rowling's, not mine. 

Author's notes: Inspired by a love letter from George Bernard Shaw to Beatrice "Stella" Campbell.

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My Day's Wage

When you do the same thing day after day, year after year, you tend to forget the reasons why you started and why you continue. In my own case, I started teaching because I wanted a chance to shape young minds, encourage genius, and discourage stupidity. Those first few years were a pleasure. My students were eager to learn; I was eager to teach. Then, it seemed like the world changed. Or perhaps only I changed, I may never know. Now, I feel that no matter how hard I try, stupidity will always outnumber genius in this world. These days, few of my students show any natural intelligence, and only one shows true genius. She is the one reason I continue to teach.

It should come as no surprise that the student I speak of is Hermione Granger. Never before have I encountered such a mind, and I very much doubt I ever will again. Every fact I say, every distinction I make, every instruction I give she writes down, memorizes, I believe even treasures. She is a girl who loves learning, not just to assist her with her classwork, but because she is eager to open her mind to new possibilities.

I imagine Hermione wishes as fervently as I do that her classmates were as serious about their studies as she. I often watch as she shows Potter, Weasley, and the ever-incompetent Longbottom how to properly brew their potions. I have accused her of showing off, as is expected of me, but I know that she does it from a love of learning and the goodness in her heart, as cliched as that might sound. The fact that those boys, especially Longbottom, have passed my course year after year is a testament to her.

As Hermione's seventh year at Hogwarts draws to a close, her graduation inspires mixed feelings in me. And in the rest of the staff, of course. We are proud of the student we have seen excel at everything she has put her mind to. Yet, I at least am saddened by the loss of such a rare intellect. Hogwarts will not be the same without her.

I know my colleagues are all hoping she will continue her education in one or more of their fields. Minerva in particular would like to see her become a Transfiguration instructor or at least an animagus. Curiously, Hermione has refrained from making any sort of commitment about her future. One must wonder what she is waiting for.

My year-end review with Albus is tomorrow. We will discuss my performance this year and, among other things, next year's salary. I wonder how he would react if I told him I'd be satisfied with just teaching Hermione Granger every day.


	2. My Night's Dream

Disclaimer: Not mine, J.K. Rowling's.

Author's Note: See ch 1.

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My Night's Dream

I am haunted, but not by a ghost. A simple exorcism would take care of a specter. Nor by a memory. That is what I have a pensieve for. No, I am haunted by the image of a girl in my dreams. No, not a girl, a young woman. A young woman who is driving me to distraction and she is not even present.

Every night, I dream about Hermione Granger. Usually, the dreams are of simple domestic scenes: myself reading a sonnet out loud to her while she listens raptly; her helping me with a particularly complicated potion; the two of us simply having dinner together. Those are always pleasant dreams that leave me wistful in the morning.

What is worse is when my dreams of her become more ... intimate. They usually start innocently enough, with a simple dinner or a walk around the school grounds. But the dreams never remain innocent. Before long, Hermione and I are doing things I cannot even contemplate in my waking life without blushing. Yes, I, Severus Snape, do blush on occasion. I am not ashamed to admit it. To myself, anyway. Those dreams always leave me feeling unbearable longing for hours after I awake.

My greatest worry is that one the other members of the staff will deduce what has been going through my head every night. Albus in particular has been looking at me rather knowingly as of late. The old man is up to something, I feel it. With luck, whatever he is planning will be revealed before the school year starts in a few weeks.

I take it back -- my greatest worry is not that someone will find out. My greatest worry is that these dreams will stop. That is why I haven't reached for the Dreamless Sleep potion -- without these dreams, I have nothing of her.


	3. My Angel

Disclaimer and Author's Notes: See Chapter One.

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My Angel

In summers past, I dreaded the first of September and with it, the start of another school year filled with ignorant, lazy, undisciplined students. The one bright spot of hope shining through my despair was the chance to expand Hermione Granger's knowledge of potions. Now that she has graduated, that hope has fled. All I have are a handful of her essays, the parchments now horribly creased by my frequent readings, and my nightly dreams of a future with her that can never be.

Yesterday morning, Fawkes delivered an annoyingly cheerful letter from Dumbledore. He wrote that he had found a teaching assistant for me. I am eternally grateful to Albus, but must I show that gratitude by subjecting myself to every idea of supposedly improving my life that he can think of? I wrote a reply reminding Albus that not only did I not request an assistant, I work best when I am alone, and I have no room in my classroom or my office for another person who will only get in my way. The phoenix flew off with the letter clutched in his beak and I assumed that was the end of it.

Once again, I found that Albus can be irritatingly unpredictable. The old man couldn't even wait an hour before responding that this unnamed person received high marks in both Potions and Advanced Potions and was very eager to work with me. I responded that I would discuss this matter further with Albus when I return to Hogwarts next week. With any luck, I will convince him to hand this assistant off to someone else.

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My return to Hogwarts at first seemed no different than any other. The halls were blessedly silent and empty, save for Filch occasionally chasing that blasted poltergeist Peeves. During breakfast in the Great Hall, Albus and Minerva had a heated discussion about something or other. I paid little attention to them, preferring to focus on the food. At one point, Albus turned to me and remarked, with that damn twinkle in his eye, that my new assistant was waiting for me in my office. I responded that whoever they are, they could wait until I had finished breakfast. Nothing could entice me to meet then, of course, reject this person with an empty stomach and no caffeine.

A leisurely bowl of porridge and two cups of coffee later, Albus reminded me that my assistant was still waiting and had been in my office for over an hour. His attempt to hasten my departure wouldn't work; everything in my office that must be kept from prying eyes had been carefully warded. On the way there, I passed the Bloody Baron, who said nothing, as usual, but did smirk at me. I could only wonder what that was about. A date with the Grey Lady seemed the most likely.

Once inside the Potions classroom, I was suddenly overcome with an immense longing. There was Hermione's chair at the table she had shared with that imbecile, Longbottom. I could almost see her there -- whispering instructions to the boy, reminding Potter and Weasley to pay attention, desperately trying to get me to call on her when she knows the answers to my questions. How I wished I could go back in time to stop myself from being so cruel to her. She deserved none of my apparent scorn and all of the praise I failed to give her.

A loud thud coming from my office roused me from my melancholy. Determined to rid myself of my unwanted and unnecessary assistant, I quickly crossed the length of the classroom and yanked open the door. My immense irritation instantly turned to shock when I saw Hermione seated in front of a blazing fire in the fireplace, one or other of my books in her hands. I didn't notice which one as I was blinded by the delight in her smile and in her eyes as she greeted me.

I stared at her, dumbfounded, as she cheerfully thanked me for taking her on as my assistant. At the mention of her position, I was able to get a hold of myself. I started to protest, telling her that I never asked for an assistant. The disappointment in her eyes made me stop. She begged me to give her a chance, saying that in a fortnight, I'd wonder how I ever got along without her.

The fortnight has passed, and all I can say is how relieved I am. My incredibly annoying students direct their questions to Hermione. The younger students, even some Slytherins, go to her for advice. She grades all of the first, second, and third years' work, leaving the rest to me. The few evenings that there are no misbehaving students to clean the classrooms during detention, she insists on doing the work with me.

In short, she has saved me from the near-constant headache I have during the school year. Tomorrow, I will ask Albus to give her a raise. As for my feelings towards her, my nightly dreams of her have dissipated. It would seem that her presence has saved me from that ache as well.


End file.
